It wasn't like his buddies had never seen him cry, but this pain was different than the pain they shared when they lost a comrade. This was a woman he'd come to care for and respect deeply; the mom of the woman he loved. It was going to wreck Grace when she died.
Grace.
He'd picked up his phone to call her when he noticed the email from Marisol. How did he call her now and pretend her mother hadn't just sent him what sounded like a final goodbye?
She knew her mother's condition had continued to worsen over the past two months, but was she ready to accept that her mom would be gone soon?
He sat on the stairs to put his boots on, struggling to rein in his emotions as he did so. It took him a full ten minutes to compose himself enough to call Grace.
She was usually at her desk and answered on the first or second ring, but today, his call went to voicemail.
He hesitated for a moment, unsure what to say, then in a sudden burst of speech, he said, "Sorry, I missed you. I love you and I can't stop thinking about you."
He ended the call, shoved his phone into his pocket, then shoved his hands into his hair that needed to be cut again. He propped his elbows on his knees.
How do I help Grace through this when I'm so far away?
He frequently encouraged his family to check in on her and visit Marisol, but that didn't feel like enough anymore.
His phone buzzed, and he pulled it from his pocket. Relief and concern warred within him when he spotted Grace's name on the screen.
"Hey, beautiful." He struggled to keep his tone casual.
"Hey." Grace sniffled as her red-brimmed eyes flooded with fresh tears.
"What's wrong, Babe?"
"Your Uncle James just admitted my mom to the hospital." Her voice cracked. "She has pneumonia."
"I'm so sorry. They can treat pneumonia with antibiotics though, right?" That didn't sound nearly as serious as some things Damon had read about cancer patients who suffered organ failure.
"The tumor in her right lung has tripled in size since May, blocking more than half of that lung, and she has another one in the top left lung, affecting air flow."
"So what does this mean?" His voice was husky, because he already knew the answer.
"They've put her on oxygen, but we're still trying to decide on a course of action. Gabe and I want the doctors to treat the pneumonia but treating it would only be a short-term fix. With her ability to breathe so hampered, it would come right back." She sniffled again.
Seeing her anguish, made his chest squeeze so tight, he struggled to draw in a full breath of his own.
"Mom doesn't want treatment, but..." Grace's voice squeaked as she continued. "I'm not ready to let her go."
"I'm so sorry, Grace." Damon looked up at the starry sky as he swallowed the lump of emotion that clogged his throat. "I wish I was there to hold you and help you through this."
"Me too."
They were both quiet for several long moments, each dealing with their own grief.
"Gah." Damon burst to his feet. "My heart is breaking for you, Grace. I feel so da—" he cut off the curse word. "I feel so incredibly helpless."
Grace giggled, surprising him. Then she clapped a hand over her mouth.
"What's so funny?"
"You are. The way you stopped yourself from swearing. You're so thoughtful and compassionate." She continued to smile into her phone. "You're amazing, you know that?"
"What do you mean?"
"It was sweet the way you took time to visit with my mom so often while you were here. Then you continued to email her after you deployed." Her gaze turned tender. "You didn't have to do that, but I love that you did."
